Netflix and Chill
by hulklinging
Summary: "Stay over?" Tommy and Kate cross paths, and decide to linger.


They team up to fight some bee guy who's taken particular offence with a Whole Foods. It shouldn't take them so long to defeat him, but they're out of practice with how each other moves. Plus, this guy is made of bees. That complicates everything.

Afterwards, they stumble home punch-drunk, high on their own success. Kate's place is closer (Does Tommy even live in New York, these days? Does Tommy live anywhere?), so they head there. There's a moment of hesitation at the door, but then Tommy slips around her, flops down on her couch like he's been here before, like there isn't enough words left unsaid between them to fill a book.

Kate makes tea, because she's too high-strung for coffee, and she wants something in her hands. She's noticed lately that her hands always want to curl, like she's still gripping her bow. Instead of seeing this as a sign that she might need to take a break, she makes sure she doesn't leave her hands empty often.

Tommy takes the cup and doesn't even make a face at the herbal tea. She can't remember if she's ever seen him willingly consume a drink without caffeine before.

Tommy's got the news on, muted, and they watch coverage of their fight for a few minutes. Kate frowns at some sloppy form on her part, is about to reach for the remote to rewind the clip so she can see exactly where she went wrong, when Tommy beats her to it, clicking the TV off.

"Hey!"

He shakes a finger at her. "I didn't come over here to watch you dissect your performance. You're a superhero, not an Olympian. Chill."

Being told to chill from someone who cannot sit still to save his life is rich, and she opens her mouth to tell him so, but he's gone, in the kitchen rifling through her cabinets.

"Do you not have any food here or what?"

 _Why did you come here,_ she wonders, but doesn't voice out loud. "I don't really eat in much, I guess. And if I buy groceries, I usually bring them to Clint's." He lives a few floors up, after all, and his oven is better than hers. She could always replace her oven, but then she has one less excuse to go over there and make sure the man is actually eating.

Tommy sticks his head out from the hallway. "So should I go over there and give him a talk, or did my brother already beat me to it?"

Her cheeks heat, and she scowls. "Just friends, Tommy."

He shrugs and disappears again, but his voice carries in her small apartment. "Just checking! Gossip mags get things right every once in a while, so I thought I'd make sure."

Kate doesn't know what's more ridiculous, the idea that her and Clint are actually the subject of some rag's article, or that Tommy reads trashy gossip magazines.

She sits down on the couch because otherwise she'll follow Tommy around, and she doesn't want to. She's tired, she should probably stretch and ice her shoulder, actually. And get out of her costume. Ugh.

There's one of her sweatshirts lying over the back of the couch, so she peels herself out of the top of her costume and throws that over her sports bra. She'll get up and get alternate pants in a bit, but already she feels better, the tension draining out of her. She puts her tea down on the coffee table and breathes, falling into her post-workout/fight stretches instinctively, letting all the doubts and questions that plague her go, her mind blissfully blank as she reminds her body how to relax.

"Did you fall asleep?"

And reality comes back, all at once. She frowns. "No. I'm stretching. Not all of us are mutants with superspeed recovery time."

Tommy grins at her, and she realizes what she said a moment too slow.

"Not what I meant, Tommy!"

He chuckles. "Hey, it's true. Super fast recovery, that's me." He winks at her, but he also offers her a bowl of mystery noodles that smell absolutely delicious, so she bites back a retort in favour of taking the food.

"This didn't come from my kitchen."

He shakes his head, digging into his own bowl. "Nope. Not even the cutlery. I got us takeout."

She doesn't thank him, but she also doesn't kick him out of her house. Tommy looks too smug already, anyway. He doesn't need more praise.

After the noodles, all she really wants to do is curl up and take a nap. She waves a hand at the couch, says something about 'make yourself at home,' and heads to her room. She's asleep almost instantly, not even bothering to get under the covers.

Kate sleeps for four hours without dreams, wakes up feeling like she's been born anew. There's a blanket over her that she doesn't remember grabbing, but underneath it she's still half in costume, and it's getting to evening, so she does up her top again and heads for the door and her bow. It's a Friday night. There will be something to do.

She'd forgotten about her guest. In the dark apartment, lit by the city outside, all she can really see of him is his white hair. He sits up as she walks past.

"Kate?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He shrugs. He's shirtless, and she tries to pretend she doesn't follow the sharp lines of his collarbones with her eyes. "S'okay. Are you seriously going out?"

"Yes?"

He's next to her before she registers he's moving at all, which is probably a sign she shouldn't go out. Her reactions feel slower than they should be. Or maybe it's just Tommy, this dusk lighting that makes everything feel dreamlike.

"Don't go." He brushes a light hand over her arm, the one already clutching her bow. "Stay over."

She raises an eyebrow. "Stay over? This is my house."

He grins, crooked and more open than she's seen him in a long time. "Yeah, and I'm asking you to stay over. Give yourself a break. You already saved the city, today. It's someone else's turn."

"That's not how it works."

"Sure it is." His hand is on hers, and she lets him take the bow away, put it back in its place, lead her back to the couch. "It's New York. You shoot an arrow straight up, it'll hit like three do gooders on the way down."

Clint likes to wander on Fridays, when there's no Avengers business. Stopping petty thefts and keeping an eye on anyone walking home through the park. Tommy's right, there are always eyes on this city. But she doesn't know what to do, when her hands are empty. She doesn't like giving herself much time to languish.

Her hand isn't empty now. Tommy's tangled their fingers together, and the remote is in his other hand. He skips past all the news channels, pulls up Netflix instead, and she should protest, but she doesn't. Just lets herself lean into his shoulder as he flicks through movies faster than she can follow. Lets the iron grip she maintains on her own life loosen, just for a night. Trades in a bit of control for this comfort, a mindless movie with a boy she used to know, one she thinks will let her get to know him again, if she wants.

Maybe she does want that. She's not sure. But for now, she doesn't make any important decisions. She just stays.


End file.
